


The Sands of Troy

by ElDiablito_SF



Series: The Fabulous Adventures in Immortality of the Vampire Aramis and the Man Who Named the Mountain, Volume V, Missing Scenes [4]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Demigods, I feel like we need our own special tags for this, M/M, Murder Moste Foul, Trojan War, immortality AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: Two demigods just want to... wrestle.





	The Sands of Troy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Favourite_alias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Favourite_alias/gifts).



> For you, darling babe! I filled your Tumblr prompt *kisses*
> 
> This obviously takes place in Troy so the Grigori is Yorgas, i.e. his first mortal incarnation. We love Our Hero <3

The two demigods lay in the sand, shared breath passing between their lips as they hovered just over each other. Athos raised his hand to brush away a golden curl that spilled over Achilles’ forehead, catching on his fluttering eyelashes.

“I bested you again,” the son of Zeus smirked over the son of Peleus.

Achilles laughed and pulled his friend down, letting their lips collide in a burst of violence before the kiss turned into a soft caress. “I was too distracted by your thighs. One might say, that’s cheating,” Achilles smirked, hand pressing into the firm globes of Athos’ arse.

“What do you expect me to do about my thighs, little nymphling? Cover them up like some barbarian?”

Achilles had pressed up, his teeth latching onto his friend’s tumescent lower lip. “I’ll show you a nymphling…”

A womanish squeal drove them apart. Each demigod rolled across the sand, shields and swords grasped at the ready.

“State your business or die where you stand!” Athos proclaimed in the booming voice he’d inherited from his Father.

“Please, don’t kill me, Kyrios. It would be poor recompense for one whose sole purpose is to serve you.”

Athos squinted into the darkness. “Yorgas, you ass, is that you? Come closer.”

The Grigori emerged out of the night’s veil, his chiton all askew and his hands covered in blood. He wore a wilting expression on his face that Athos had not seen since the day they had sailed from Thira with Odysseus.

“What has happened?” Athos asked, taking in the disturbing sight.

“A would-be assassin, Kyrios. Probably sent by the Trojans to do away with you or your golden friend over there.”

Achilles took a step forward, his shield protecting Athos’ sword arm. He had taken the position of honor by sheer habit, making Athos wonder momentarily what such hubris must feel like. Son of a jumped up sea nymph, his sister had called Achilles. But no, jealousy had no place in an honorable heart.

“Where is this man you killed?” Athos asked.

“Just… over… beyond the sand dune, Kyrios,” the Grigori uttered through chattering teeth.

“Why are you trembling?” Achilles addressed the guardian. 

“Why? Why…? I’m a divine guardian, Lord Achilles. I have never killed anyone before.” The Grigori looked from one demigod to the other and blinked several times in quick succession. “Not that there is anything wrong with killing. You two masters are excellent at it, and it becomes you. Blood and guts, and all that. When I still lived on Olympus…”

“Shut up,” Athos cut him off. “Why are you prattling on like an old woman?”

“I… Apologies, Kyrios.”

“What did you think would happen if you followed me to war, you nuisance made flesh?”

“I did not so much think as obeyed, Kyrios,” the Grigori pronounced with a low and obsequious bow.

“Your Grigori did well,” Achilles spoke, kneeling over a bloodied corpse. “The blow struck true.”

“There, gnat, did you hear?” Athos grinned, tossing his sword and shield down into the sand. “You did well. Now skedaddle before I have half a mind to use you for target practice.”

The Grigori straightened to his full but unimpressive height and crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

“No? What in the Hades do you mean - no?”

“Kyrios should not be going off so far from the camp where..,” the Grigori looked suspiciously over at Achilles, “... where he is _distracted_ and left unprotected. The next assassin can very well run you through.”

Achilles snorted while he continued to examine the corpse. 

“Achilles cannot be killed and I have a protector,” Athos replied haughtily.

“Yes, Kyrios. I know, Kyrios. I am that protector!”

“I don’t mean you, Olympian pest.”

“The Olympian pest is right,” Achilles rose, his hand clutching a severed head by its locks of hair. “We should return to camp. I’m certain Agamemnon and Odysseus would love to see _this_.”

“That is Mestor, one of the sons of Priam,” the Grigori muttered, averting his eyes from the gruesome sight. 

Athos in turn took in the scene before him not without a certain prurient interest. “Are you going to tell them my Grigori did that?”

“Now what kind of story would that make for posterity,” the leader of the Myrmidons grinned.

No kind of story at all, Athos would think thousands of years later.

**Author's Note:**

> Allegedly, Mestor was killed by Achilles. Ahem.


End file.
